


The Decay of Henry Jekyll

by Toacho



Category: The Glass Scientists (Webcomic), The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood and Gore, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Frankenstein Being a BAMF, Gore, Henry Needs Some Help, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Infection, M/M, Medical Conditions, Memory Loss, Multi, Seizures, Self-Harm, Whump, lanyon needs a hug, will probably add more tags as the story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:34:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toacho/pseuds/Toacho
Summary: Henry Jekyll mysteriously vanishes following the night of the Exhibition's success. When he returns; filthy, injured, and with no recollection of the last few nights and with wounds that seemingly refuse to heal, his friends begin to worry.
Relationships: Dr. Henry Jekyll/Dr. Robert Lanyon
Comments: 30
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert enjoys some fireworks while Henry enjoys the view — but in a wholesome way. Henry gets ready for a transformation and then enjoys the view of the night sky — but not in a wholesome way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Gore, unintentional self-harm, implied self-harm, & body horror.

It had gone well. Against all odds, it had gone well.

Lanyon stood off in the distance as he watched Henry draw into the closing remarks, already yearning for that glass of expensive wine that he’d saved for this special night in anticipation of needing something — some sort of small grace — to pick the both of them up following what Robert had been anticipating to be a horrific disaster. However, it seems that rather than consolation wine, tonight they would be having a celebratory drink. Tonight, they'd drink to the exhibition's success rather than to forget the society's eventual downfall.

The lodgers had done remarkably well, presenting as if they were born naturals. Hell, even Jasper had seemed to grow comfortable talking to the gathering crowds, Robert remembering passing the young werewolf to find him excitedly teaching a group of children the basics of caring for a young kitsune. They’d avoided any accidents between the public and the scientists and Robert couldn’t help but still be amused by the moment Henry had turned to him about halfway through during a brief intermission in the busy schedule and admitted that he was unsure of what to work on now that everyone had begun presenting. Robert would have felt bad for the man, if not for the faint look that he caught in Henry’s eye in that single glance; happiness. At that particular moment, Robert knew that Henry couldn’t have been more pleased to be absolutely useless.

Of course, it had not lasted long, and Henry had gone back to assisting the lodgers wherever possible and eventually bringing forth the closing of the exhibition while Robert took care of his own duties.

Now, they were so close to the end, Henry giving his final speech before they would have to clean everything up and then have the evening to themselves.

Henry’s eyes skimmed over the crowd before eventually reaching the far edge of it and briefly settling on Robert, Henry’s smile brightening fractionally before he was forced to turn his gaze back to the rest of the audience. Robert couldn’t help but smile back.

Unfortunately, it was that brief exchange that made him ignorant of Henry’s particular word choice of ‘ending the show with a bang’.

Robert jumped sharply, unfolding his arms and stepping back into the pillar as a loud explosion rang through the air, a few members of the crowd having similar reactions as another bang followed suit; then another, and another.

All it took was a few moments before Robert had noticed the gaze of the crowd, everyone’s eyes turned to the sky as their fear melted into awe. When Robert looked up, his jaw fell.

The sky was filled with explosions, bright and colorful with each explosion following mere moments after the last and filling the entire sky with a magnificent light show that would put any possible heaven to shame. Some whistled before they exploded, small trails of flickering lights following each of their fractured colors. Others would crackle and pop to reveal a small variety of colors within the single explosion. There were even a few that would go much higher, exploding much larger, and surely putting the whole of London on edge with each loud boom.

“I apologize for the scare,” A soft voice drifted through the noise. “I suppose I should have given more of a warning before ending in such a way. I would hate for any of the audience to have been frightened by-”

“It’s magnificent,” Robert said, eyes still fixed on the sky as Henry approached. Finally, when he flicked his gaze back down to Henry, he couldn’t help but notice the tired but sincere smile. He returned it before looking back up as one of the crackling explosions rang through the air.

Henry stepped closer, standing beside Lanyon and looking up, the crowd distant and all too captivated by the display to pay any mind to the two. The exhibition had ended, or was at least wrapping to an end, soon; they would celebrate.

“I have to hand it to them, the lodgers did well,” Robert admitted. Sure, he had heard the faint mutters of displeasure at the start, but they’d all seemed to accept and enjoy their roles as time had passed. “Not to mention Frankenstein keeping to herself, tell me; did you lock her in the attic or something?” He asked, dropping his tone slightly as he popped the short joke.

Henry couldn’t help but give a slight laugh, “No, I do believe that she is currently conspiring against me through some other means. Perhaps she will go the more physical route and I will wake up to a knife buried in my chest?”

Robert brought a hand up to muffle his laugh. “I suppose you’ll need to be careful then, at least for another week or two,” He said, finally bringing his gaze back down to Henry and finding himself a little surprised to notice that despite the sky full of bright and beautiful explosions, Henry had been looking at him. He felt his face flush a little, bringing a hand up and swiping a few hairs out of his own eyes as he tried to settle himself. As he brought his hand back down, however; Henry had already turned his gaze away, suddenly seeming quite interested in watching the crowd’s reactions.

They remained like that for a few moments, the both of them eventually turning their eyes back up, until Henry winced and brought a hand to his head, drawing Robert’s concerned gaze. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Henry said quickly, pulling his hand back down and putting on a smile that Robert had the fortune of knowing from years of experience to be forced. Even more fortunately, it seemed that even Henry realized it was futile to try and lie to Robert and was quick to explain himself, “I have had a bit of a headache for the better part of the day. As lovely as the fireworks are, they’re not being very gentle on it.”

Robert raised an eyebrow at him. “How bad is it?”

“Not _that_ bad. It’s just - “ Henry began, a particularly loud explosion causing his eye to twitch faintly in pain. “Not pleasant.”

“Well go inside then, you’ve done an exceptional job today and I am sure that Rachel and I can manage it from here. Besides, the crowd should begin dispersing as soon as this is over.”

“But Robert-”

“Henry,” Robert cut through sharply. “You’re not going to do yourself any favors by staying out here. Go inside, have a glass of water, and get some rest. There will be time for celebrating the success of the exhibition tomorrow.”

“What if something happens in my absence? What if someone is injured or-” Henry began.

Robert frowned, folding his arms again. “Henry, you can’t keep pushing yourself. We’ll take care of any issues that may arise. You need to get some rest,” He said, his words falling sharp and final. “Doctor’s orders.”

Henry fell silent for a moment, his eyes drifting to the side before flicking briefly back up at the fireworks, his brow slightly knitted in what was either pain or contemplation. Finally, he sighed and put on a tired smile. “I suppose that I cannot win this argument, can I?”

Robert couldn’t help but crack a smile in return. “No, you cannot. Now,” He said, placing a hand on Henry’s upper back and beginning to guide him to the door despite Henry being fully capable of walking himself. Truthfully, Robert was partially convinced that if he did not walk him straight to the door, then Henry would vanish off into the crowd to go find some other way to be helpful. “Go get some sleep. Your exhibition was a success.”

As the words left his mouth, Robert noticed that way that Henry’s shoulders fell just faintly, as if that terrible tension of carrying the entire society on his back had finally been lifted. “Very well, I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Of course,” Robert said as they reached the entrance of the society, Robert letting his hand shift to Henry’s shoulder as the two gave each other a final glance. “Good night, Henry.”

It took a moment, Robert excusing the hesitation as another wave of Henry's growing headache, but he eventually responded, his tone soft and holding a strange sincerity that Robert had noticed to have become rather rare in the last few weeks. “Good night, Robert.”

With that, Robert watched Henry turn and enter the society, the scientist giving a brief smile to some of the lodgers that had already collected near the entryway as Robert watched him start making his way up the stairs. His attention was pulled away as another particularly loud firework rang through the air, drawing his gaze back to the sky as a bright gold and red flickered above and around the society.

* * *

As Henry made his way up the steps and to the office, dodging the various lodgers that had already escaped the crowd to huddle back in the society, Henry did his best to ignore both of the tedious annoyances; his growing headache and a particular hallucination that deemed today to be the perfect day to pester him endlessly.

“Just imagine how much more lovely those explosions will be when you’re staring up at them from London’s rooftops,” Edward hummed softly right next to his ear, the words drifting to him moments before Edward slowly began to seep into reality, floating beside the doctor. “Of course, that is if you let me get my turn started real quick-like, who knows how long Luckett plans to keep them going.”

Henry gave him a pointed glance as he passed him, remaining silent but the look being all too knowing.

“Ah,” Edward murmured. “Right, a quarter of an hour. Well, there’s still plenty of time for you to take your _medicine_ and then we can get right up there, watch them till they trickle off, then I’ll be on my way to enjoy the rest of my night. There’d have been a lot more time if you hadn’t been standing around flirting with Lanyon for so long.”

The doctor continued on his way without sparing Edward another glance as they approached the office. Once inside, he closed the door behind himself and took a moment to discard his jacket neatly on the chair beside his desk, catching a glimpse of Edward waiting expectantly in the reflection from the cabinets.

“You could move a little faster,” Edward grumbled, pressing a cheek against his folded hand as he watched Henry move at a snail's pace.

“I think that Robert is right, we should rest tonight,” Henry knew the words were going to stir his headache even before he said them. The moment that he watched Edward perk up, his expression twisting in rage, Henry merely prepared himself.

“Rest?” Edward shouted, out of the reflection within a moment and pushing himself directly in Henry’s face. “I’ve been resting for almost two weeks! I let you prepare and put on your little show and this is how to repay me! You owe me!”

Henry frowned, folding his arms and trying to stave off the growing pain in his head. “I owe you nothing. That break was intended to give the police time to move on from searching for you and it has worked, you’re hardly their main focus anymore,” Henry sharply replied. “Besides, you have not been as well-behaved as you claim to be. If I remember correctly, you are the one that _tortured_ me, forced a transformation, and was nearly caught by Scotland Yard. If not for Rachel, neither of us would be having this conversation.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Hyde said as he waved a dismissive hand before sharply pointing at Henry. “But after that, I was nothing but perfect! Me — _perfect_!” His last word came out particularly harsh, causing Henry to wince.

The doctor quickly turned around to start tidying up his cluttered desk to hide the gesture. “ _Perfect_ ," He said slowly, "- just as you were perfect tonight when you continued to berate me throughout the entire exhibition? Or perhaps that childish gagging sound you were making any time I talked to Robert? Or maybe those five-or-so times that you said Frankenstein had shown up just to exclaim _'Made you look'_?”

“I was merely pointing out where you could improve, the rest was for my own entertainment and was hardly anything you couldn't just ignore.” Hyde brushed off the accusation again. “You’re hardly as perfect as they all think you are; I know that because you’re still me.”

Henry sighed, straightening some papers as he rolled his eyes. “A fact that I come to regret more with each passing day.”

Hyde’s nose scrunched as he quickly swung around, floating above the desk as he pushed himself back in front of Henry’s face, a faint abstract green tinge rising from the ends of his hair. “Don’t patronize me!” He shouted harshly, Henry unable to hide his faintly pained expression as Hyde shouted. “You know that it is my turn!”

Henry cringed back, bringing his hand to his head and using the other hand to brace himself against the desk, the words sending a sharp throb of pain directly through his skull. Surely he had something in one of his cabinets to fix this?

“What’s even wrong with you anyways?” Hyde asked, a sneer crossing his expression as he watched the doctor start to make his way towards one of the side cabinets where he kept the majority of the medicinal ingredients. “Oh, right. The headache," Hyde mumbled, shifting to sit on the desk. "I figured you were just making that up to get away from stupid Lanyon.”

“I’m not you.”

“Well, not in personality, but touché.”

Hyde frowned as he watched the doctor slowly make his way to the cabinet, then shuffling some of the materials to the side as he searched. After a few moments, he started to hatch a plan, and with a wide shit-eating grin spread across his face as he took in a dramatic breath of air and prepared to unleash hell.

“Edward, if you do that, I will dump all of the materials for the potion in the trash and let you rot inside me. Now, where did I put it?” Henry said, his volume soft but his tone sharp and definite.

Edward hesitated, considering screeching anyways, before the air deflated and he fell silent as he crossed his legs over each other, staring at the doctor as the man began making a potion that certainly was not for their transformation. “I want a night.”

“I know,” Henry said.

“I want tonight - before the fireworks die out.”

“I know.”

Edward frowned, continuing to watch Henry, noting how he could occasionally spot the twitch of a finger whenever a particularly harsh firework would ring through the air. Edward already knew it was no use, even if Henry took the potion right this moment, the transformation would take too long and their arguing had done nothing but consume time. It was useless.

Edward’s eyebrow raised as a loud firework rang through the skies, a clatter following suit as Henry’s hand sharply bumped into a few of the bottles, knocking some weird almost nut-like ingredients into a spilled orangish liquid. Even a moment after, as Henry was quick to brush the solid ingredient away and to the side to avoid further contamination, Edward couldn’t help but notice the pained expression the doctor wore.

“I’ll give you tonight,” Henry said softly, drawing Edward’s gaze back and immediately bringing a grin to his face. “But before we do that, I’m going to get rid of this headache. I don't want to listen to you complain about it the entire night,” Henry mumbled. “You’ll have to deal with it for the first half-hour or so but it should dissipate soon after that.”

He considered refuting Henry's claim that he'd 'complain', but chose to let the doctor have his small win. “Of course,” Edward hummed with a smirk. “Then I’ll leave you to do your work.” He’d already won, there was no point in lingering around for the doctor to potentially change his mind. Besides, it was just a headache, Henry — and by default Hyde as well — knew that they were hardly a difficult ailment to clear.

With that, Henry found that Edward had already vanished by the time he glanced over his shoulder. With the shake of his head, he continued working.

As he made the potion, he couldn’t help but hesitate as he noted that one of the necessary ingredients happened to be one of the contaminated ones that he had spilled, but as the dull pain continued to grow, he chose to simply use a knife to slice off the wet sections before using the dry parts in hopes that they’d not been too contaminated. After all, neither of those ingredients had been from one of the poison cabinets, and it was unlikely that it would cause any harm. Not to mention that it’d be a waste to throw out the whole thing just for a little bit of splashed sides.

Once finished, he downed the potion, the headache only growing as he noted that the fireworks had grown both louder and more rapid, seemingly coming to a close. At least it would be over soon, even if Hyde would be bitter about missing it.

After preparing the transformation potion and holding it up but not yet bringing it to his lips, he cast a brief glance out the window, watching a few of the fireworks launching. They whistled, growled, popped; the noise growing more and more blinding. “Get on with it already,” He heard Hyde mutter from somewhere within him.

With the medicine sitting thick in his stomach, his eyes still on the fireworks exploding outside, he turned the potion up and quickly noticed that something felt very _very_ wrong. Something deep in his throat, as if some great horrible thing had settled itself within his very blood. It was not the transformation, he knew the familiar ache of himself changing. He felt his stomach lurch from the liquid he’d just poured down his throat, a familiar nausea. It was not his bones either, cracking beneath his own weight as they forced themselves to shrink for the man taking his place, he recognized those pains.

Something was wrong.

He felt the potion bubbling in his throat, spilling out in thick green globs from his mouth and eyes as his hair lengthened and began to take on a pale blond color. He could see the length of his fingers shortening, his morbid curiosity forcing his gaze down to the slim digits as he watched the bones snap underneath his skin, his best comparison being to that of twigs breaking underneath a thin cloth, only to reform themselves in the shape of another man's hand. The nails were longer — they always were — he'd realized a few months ago that the nails seemed to have a strange quality to them that made them neither grow nor shrink during the transformation — Hyde's nails merely being that of the doctor's and therefore looking much longer on the smaller man's hands.

Choking down a cry of pain as a stab of pain shot through his skull — unfamiliar and unpleasant — he felt himself collapse to the ground — sure that the man that would stand back up would be none other than Mr. Hyde. His eyes turned up as he rolled onto his back and found himself staring out into the darkness just outside his window, the fireworks screaming as if they were right beside his ears, the clouded darkness and starless skies casting different shaded fogs across everything outside the window. Without thought, Henry brought his hand up, flexing his fingers as he reached out to the darkness above him.

* * *

_Above him._

The pitch-black above him — gentle stars sitting just out of reach — a calming silence washing over his surroundings with only the faint chirping of crickets drifting through the quiet — a soft breeze flowing through his fingertips with grass waving at the edges of his sight.

His fingertips...

His hand was his own, much too large to be that of Hyde's, but as his brow slowly furrowed, he noticed that the nails on the ends of his fingers were neither his nor Hyde's. They were not perfectly and meticulously manicured, they were not long and sharp with a slight amount of dirt from a long night of drinking and fighting; but were jagged-edged, shaven down to painful stubs, and bloodied at the ends as if they'd been cropped _much_ too short, crusted blood and dirt clinging to the pads of his fingers.

His throat felt dry.

The more he stared, the more seemed wrong with it. It was his hand, he knew that much, but as his gaze trailed down from the thin fingers to his raw-looking wrist and eventually to the shredded and filthy white fabric of his shirt that barely had enough threads to hold itself together over the slender limb, he couldn't help but notice just how terrible this all appeared. His gaze flitted between the torn sleeve, then to the wrist with thin red scratch marks that appeared to have broken the skin in a few small points. Eventually, in morbid curiosity and confusion, he raised his other arm to compare the damage to an unharmed limb.

It's funny, how you can believe that something is perfectly fine and undamaged, right up until the moment you look at it. He'd heard many stories of people who'd been bitten by vampires, or slashed by werewolves, and had merely thought that a mosquito had pricked their neck or that a branch had brushed their shoulder; right up until they looked at the limb and saw the streaks of blood and gore.

Why did his throat feel so dry?

There were many streaks of caked blood and filth on his arm — enough that he had almost mistaken it to merely be a dirtied sleeve — curling around and into his splotchy yellow and darkened wrist — long slashes from the center of his palm spanning down to the underside of his elbow. It looked as if some great beast had furiously and repeatedly slashed at his skin, trying to tear _something_ out from underneath it — starting near the top before carving itself carelessly to the bottom.

His eyes widened as he stared at the limb, trying to still the growing tremor in his fingers as the pain slowly began to make itself known — as something else began to make itself known too. A small itch, as if one of the strands of grass beside him were gently brushing against the wound. Slowly, it began to trail further down his wrist, deeper under the infected skin. It felt like something was crawling underneath the thick scabs.

After a moment of hesitation, he brought his shaking and shredded nails to the wound, and after holding them there for a second — feeling a strained sense of relief at the gesture — he began to scratch.

He was slow at first, frightened that the action would worsen the wound or push the dirt around his fingertips into it and infect it worse, but as the itch began to grow he couldn't help but put a little more force into it until the bothersome itch had faded into only vaguely sitting at the back of his mind. Watching a few drops of blood spill slowly from his wrist onto his chest from the irritated wound, he furrowed his brow as he realized with disgust what he had just done.

He swallowed, his throat hating him for the action.

He moved sharply, jerking to sit up in the dark field, but after finding it to only push his headache back to the forefront of his mind, he chose to move a little more cautiously.

Henry felt awful. Everything felt sore, awful, and weak; as if his body was strained completely to its limits. Perhaps it was, who knows how long the wound had been festering. He couldn't focus. It felt like a thick layer of cotton had settled in his skull and as he looked across the wide field he sat in, it did nothing to aid his confusion.

This was not familiar. He did not know where he was. This was not — The society! This was not the society! Where was he? Who had brought him out here? Had — Oh lord, had Frankenstein finally chosen to execute some diabolical plan to kidnap and rid of him? No — She wouldn't go as far as to try and kill him. Right? What had happened to his wrist? Why was it so disgustingly carved up? How long had it been like this? Why did the repulsive itch only grow at each thought he paid to it? Where were the lodgers? Where was _Robert?_ Why - Why was he here? Where was he? Where was — "Hyde," Henry finally called out.

His growing panic did nothing to help his headache, Henry bringing his less-injured hand to his head as he half-asked, half-cried out the name, the words coming out both wet and hoarse; strange to Henry's ears. It was as if it had not even been his own voice that he'd just heard.

The silence was deafening, only the faint song from the crickets somewhere in the distance replying to the lonesome doctor.

His throat felt sore.

Slowly, with shaking fingers, he brought both hands to his throat. Underneath them, he felt the familiar wet scaliness of an infection, just like the deep wound on his wrist.

His throat itched.

Disgusted and terrified, Henry pressed his fingers down and began to scratch.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert argues with sergeant Brokenshire and then reflects on the last few days while Henry stumbles around in the shadows of London like a drunk guy who doesn’t know where his house is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Gore, unintentional self-harm, dark thoughts, & body horror.

“Surely you can’t really be considering giving up the search,” Lanyon bit out, eyes narrowing.

Brokenshire sighed. “As it stands now, we have not found any evidence of foul play. Our forces are already stretched thin and there has not been a single trace of him to follow. We haven’t even been able to-”

“Well, he didn’t just vanish into thin air!”

“No, he didn’t,” The sergeant replied sharply. “But that does not imply that he is genuinely missing either.”

Robert’s lip twitched in irritation, “Then what is there to imply that he is safe either?”

The two men stared back in a deadlock. 

After a few long seconds had passed, it was the sergeant to break the stare as he gave another sigh and paced back behind his desk. “Doctor, you must understand the type of person that Henry Jekyll is-”

“I know very well the type of man he is,” Robert interrupted, arms folding, leaving out the implied _‘I certainly know him better than you,’_ that hung within the air.

The sergeant sat down as he continued. “Then surely you must also understand that anyone in his shoes would be under a great deal of stress; first with the numerous incidents involving his lodgers floating over his head, then the Hyde fellow, and of course the exhibition that everyone has been talking so much about.”

“What are you implying?”

“I am implying that this may not be anything truly sinister,” Brokenshire quickly stated, gesturing out into the air at nothing in particular as he continued. “My men have heard of no incidents with the lodgers within the last couple of weeks, the Hyde fellow appears to have skipped town ever since he guided us directly into the heart of the Bazar, and if what I have heard has been correct, then his little exhibition went swimmingly.”

Robert was thankful for having already folded his arms over each other as he felt his palms curl into fists. Surely the man was not implying what he thought he was? “So what,” Robert asked, “You think he just decided that he would just leave without telling anyone?” The edge of his lips curled slightly as he pointed out the ridiculousness of the assumption. Surely this was some sort of joke?

The sergeant raised an eyebrow at him, the two falling into silence.

Robert couldn’t stifle his short laugh at the ludicrous suggestion. “No, you’re kidding. You know that he wouldn’t just leave.”

“I am not saying that he has left for good.”

“You’re saying that he has taken a break then,” Robert said, correcting himself. “Of course, so he must have just woken up the next morning and decided to leave without so much as letting anyone know. He must have decided to walk too, considering the carriage was still there!” Robert said sarcastically, his volume raised until he was fractionally away from shouting at the poor policeman. Couldn’t the sergeant see how many holes there were in his assumption or was Robert the only one seeing the obvious here?

“Doctor, please, calm down-”

“No,” Robert quickly bit out. “You need to understand that Henry doesn’t take breaks, certainly not in that manner. He’s put up enough of a fight being forced to take a single night off, he wouldn’t just wander off without a word for a few _days_.”

“Mr. Lanyon-”

“I am warning you now, sergeant, something sinister has happened to him! Perhaps he has been kidnapped, currently being held for ransom somewhere — has there been any notes drifting around? Maybe his captors have not yet sent a note or — or something happened and —” He grew steadily more anxious as he thought of the possibilities. Certainly, there’d be a note, unless something happened and Henry was no longer useful to his kidnappers, but that would mean…

“Mr. Lanyon, please,” Brokenshire interrupted, his eyebrows faintly knit in concern. “Until he turns up, all of my men have his face memorized and are keeping an eye out. The search parties will continue, for now.” The sergeant explained, his voice calm and level to Lanyon’s steadily growing panic, his last two words doing nothing to ease the nagging feeling. “I believe that the doctor is safe and likely just taking a rest somewhere in the countryside, are you aware of any possible residences that he could hold out there?”

Robert considered it, his thoughts slowly being pulled away from the countless horrible fates that Henry could be enduring or could have _already_ endured. “As far as I am aware, he does not own any property other than the society,” Robert said after a moment before his thoughts flickered back to the cabin they’d shared. Even if it hadn’t been Henry’s, it was still a familiar area to him. He still wasn’t sure if he could put his faith in that theory, but if Henry had gone anywhere at his own free will, then it would likely be there. “The vacation house that my family owns, we have been there together a few times,” Robert finally said.

“I’ll need an address and your explicit consent for us to search the premise.”

After the brief exchange and some note-taking, Mr. Brokenshire stood up, setting the address aside on his desk. “Doctor, I will do what I can to find Mr. Jekyll but for the time being, I need you and Miss Pidgley to give me and my men room to actually work,” Once Robert immediately began to open his mouth and retort the ridiculous demand, the sergeant continued, guiding him to the door. “I understand that you are concerned for your friend, but between your visits and Miss Pidgley’s calls, not to mention the countless other cases which demand my attention, I am finding it difficult to have the time to search for your friend,” He explained patiently, opening the door and Robert stepping out, the two lingering in the doorway as he continued. “As I have said, I believe that the doctor will be back soon, either from him returning on his own accord or us finding him elsewhere. I assure you, wherever he is, he is a smart man and is unlikely to be in any true danger.”

Robert narrowed his eyes. “That’s a dangerous assumption to make.”

The two fell silent.

Brokenshire gave a resigned sigh, turning his gaze away. “Good night, doctor.”

With that, the door closed; with it, each of the small and gentle reassurances that had been promised throughout their discussion began to waver as the grim worries slowly returned. If Henry was not alright — if he was in danger — then all that the sergeant’s assumptions would do is put him in a worse circumstance.

* * *

It was always the ride back to the society that stung the most; that vague sense of hope that Henry would have miraculously returned in Robert’s absence — fine and well — with some perfectly good explanation as to where he had run off to. That bitter hope that always seemed to take great glee in lowering itself with each carriage ride back, as if it was insulting Robert for ever believing such a fanciful thing.

Maybe that was his mistake, Robert considered as he rested his chin against his folded palm as he watched the buildings drag by.

The first day following Henry’s disappearance had hardly been anything special. The morning had proceeded as usual; the lodgers had continued their experiments, Robert had tended to his own business outside of the society, and hardly a single thing had seemed off.

It had only been afternoon by the time the first flicker of something wrong began to make itself known; Frankenstein was not treated on schedule. While the old woman likely would have brushed it off if given the chance, doing her damned best to paint Henry as an unreliable doctor only once enough time had passed between her treatments to actually harm her — what a spiteful and awful woman — she was not given the chance after Creature had been quick to inform the lodgers of the missed session.

Even then, Henry’s odd lapse in what they had thought was a perfect schedule had only been brushed aside as a simple mistake, his strange disappearance being treated as him being distracted by some other pressing matter. It wasn’t like Henry was the only one who could treat her; he’d already recorded everything that he was doing in great detail so all it took was a couple of lodgers to figure it out and make sure Frankenstein was treated, even if it was a bit late in the usual schedule.

It was only that evening when Robert had returned and first learned of his friend’s disappearance that it seemed to really begin to sink in. Despite the initial concern, they’d brushed it off, excused it as being nothing important. 

Even in his own vague sense that something could be wrong, that he really _should_ be more worried about this behavior than he was, he had already had a long day of work wrapping up the business end of the exhibition and he had assumed that Henry had merely been busy working on the same.

By the time the second afternoon had rolled around the rumors had already begun. Some of the more optimistic lodgers had taken to believing a story similar to that of the sergeant, claiming that he was probably just taking a break. A few others began to consider that he’d been kidnapped; a theory that had buried itself carefully in the back of Robert’s mind ever since. One had, in what Robert sincerely hoped was a poor attempt at humor, had even claimed that Henry had probably taken the funds from the exhibition and decided to skip town — a comment that had taken Robert all of his patience to not immediately lash out and berate the stupid theory posed by the stupid lodger.

No, instead of losing his temper, Robert had taken to reaching out to Henry’s and his own mutual contacts, searching for any sort of explanation behind his disappearance; surely Henry had just gone off for some business and lost track of time? Unfortunately, when no such explanations were given, he had quickly turned to Rachel, the two of them turning to their own various contacts; Robert to Mr. Brokenshire and Rachel to Lucy.

In the area of Henry’s whereabouts, neither were of any help.

However, much to Robert’s disdain, Lucy proved to be helpful in the area of another man’s peculiar disappearance; _Hyde_.

Apparently, the gremlin had decided to show up on one of the eastern streets during the same night as the exhibition, one of Lucy’s girls catching sight of him before he’d escaped through some alleyways. After nearly two weeks of silence, it was just their luck that he would turn up right before Henry vanished.

Robert had no doubt in his mind that he had something to do with this.

Maybe Hyde had finally decided to get rid of Henry, or had sent him on some goose-chase; regardless, Robert had sworn to get down to the bottom of this.

When Henry returned, of course.

By the third night, he and Rachel had already searched most of the town themselves and could still not find any sign of the man, and Robert couldn’t help but feel that it was partially his fault. After all, while Frankenstein and Creature had initially been the ones to point out the doctor’s absence, it was Robert who was the first to begin searching for him — a whole day after he had vanished.

If he had just found out earlier or had come by a little sooner — hell — if he had just pointed out how _unlike him_ it was to just vanish?

Robert sighed, flicking his eyes to the window, watching as the buildings slowly drifted by. 

Perhaps this nightmare would be over by the time he returned. Maybe Henry would have miraculously returned with some perfectly reasonable explanation for why he had decided to just leave without warning.

His gaze drifted to the seat across from him, falling on the emptiness. He blinked, staring at it for a moment, letting his gaze flick across it before he gave a small exhale and craned his head back to the window at a faintly odd angle to watch the society slowly creep into view from behind him.

He found it almost amusing, how he had instinctually taken the seat opposite to where he had become so accustomed to seeing the doctor. Even in all of Henry’s polite charm, he’d always been so insistent on sitting where he could easily view where they were going — much more so when they were traveling to the society. Perhaps the doctor had been worried that one of these days they would be returning to find the building on fire, or blown to smithereens, or perhaps even both.

Robert sure wouldn’t put it past a certain short monster-of-a-man to light the whole building ablaze one of these days.

His expression soured ever-so-slightly at the thought of the man.

Could Hyde really have something to do with Henry’s disappearance? Sure, he seemed to be an awful and distastefully embarrassing little man from Robert’s only interaction with him — but _kidnapping_ — could Robert really believe that the man was capable of something like that?

He hesitated, brow furrowing slightly in thought, before softly exhaling as the carriage began to slow to a stop in front of the society.

He supposed that until Henry returned, he was willing to believe anyone capable of anything.

* * *

Any moment now, Henry would turn a street corner and find the society waiting for him.

Henry would be home; he could clean himself up, change into clean clothes — preferably something lighter to escape this horrible heat — he could eat something to get rid of the growing knot in his stomach and could care for whatever damned rash or infection Hyde must have left him to deal with.

_The horrible itch under his skin._

The itch rarely ever dissipated for more than a few moments before slowly brushing up from under his skin, slowly trickling down his wrists and throats before pressing in, becoming _agonizing._ He only had one real comparison that drifted to his fogged-over mind any time his head wandered to the painful itch; it felt like having a knife dragged against the underside of his skin.

Hyde had been in bar fights before, many of which had ended messily for all parties involved. Henry had dealt with cuts from bottles and knives alike — the feeling was, unfortunately, more familiar than Henry would really care for it to be.

Unlike cuts and scratches, however; these injuries could not be so easily settled by cleaning then ignoring them and letting them scab over, perhaps for the sole fact that they never seemed to fully leave him be. Every thought was spent trying to distract himself from the wounds that begged for his attention. Any time his mind even began to edge onto the topic of his wrists and throat, the painful and crawling itch beneath his skin would hit him at full force. If he ignored it, the feeling would merely sit there, patiently scraping away harder and harder at his nerves until Henry was forced to weakly give in and scratch with his already raw fingers.

He began at the left wrist, messily scratching away at the maddening spot, before giving a couple of quick scratches across his other wrist to try and chase away the much more gentle feeling, finally trailing to his throat.

His throat always stung the most. Where his left wrist had taken on a numb sort of distance between where he scratched and wherever his nerves laid buried under what he knew to be a rapidly worsening infection — his right wrist only rarely having an itch creep onto it that had thankfully not required as harsh of a treatment — his throat had not been so kind.

Henry knew that it was infected just by the way it felt; touching it, swallowing, even breathing gave him that awful sting due to where he could distinctly feel the disgusting wound curling down to the center of his collarbones. In turn, when he couldn’t help but wince from the sting that merely _existing_ caused him, his mind would drift back to the wounds, then to the itch where he would inevitably scratch and the cycle would continue.

As far as Henry could see, there was no escaping the dreadful itch. He felt sick, weak, and stupid for always giving in to the awful feeling.

Slowly, as his nails left his throat, eyes on the ground as he shuffled through the dark streets of London, he let out a soft and ragged breath. 

He would be home soon. He would clean himself. He would change clothes. He would eat something; hell, he’d almost forgotten how thirsty he was as well.

Henry dragged his arms over themselves, a strange chill seeping into his spine, interrupting the horrible heat that he’d first awoken into in the field only a few hours prior — _maybe the night had passed already, flitted right through his fingers in his endless whining? Maybe the sun would rise soon and the streets would be filled with light and all his pitiful sulking around in the dark, purposely avoiding any vague muffled noises or lights cast from windows like a common criminal, it would be for nothing when he was found pacing the streets bloodied and filthy like a raving madman. He’d be put in Bethlam for sure. His society would crumble. The lodgers would be hunted down by the mobs. Lanyon would be left to deal with the aftermath by himself._

_He really should just crawl behind some dumpsters and die._

. . .

No, he was close.

Henry would get home, take care of himself, and then carry on. 

He drew his gaze up to the skies, he could see a few rooftops, most of which looked so odd from down here rather than from his late-night rooftop scurrying that he’d grown so familiar with during Hyde’s excursions.

It was hard to look up, a sharp pain drawing one of his hands to his throat, nails digging into the skin instinctively as he winced. He hesitated though, slowly easing his grip to rub at the pained area, refusing to tear his eyes from the roofline. 

Surely the society would be there somewhere in the distance, perhaps only a few streets down? He knew that it couldn’t be _that_ far. He could swear that these streets look familiar, but in his already blurred vision, he supposed that it was hard to tell much of London’s streets apart right now.

Slowly, he felt the familiar itch begin to curl around his throat and wrists, the familiar painful sting; begging for his attention. He could feel it beneath his fingers still gently lingering at his throat, burning beneath his grip, as if it was offended at the very thought of him trying to wish it away.

His gaze caught on a particular edge of the roofline, peering faintly above the rest of the buildings from a distance, a bronze cylinder that Henry could have recognized from a mile away; the society’s telescope.

_The itch slowly picked at him from under his skin._

He brought his hand down, shaking like a leaf as he folded his arms back over himself, fighting off another chill as he set forth towards the society.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm going to be honest, this is mostly just an exposition chapter and is kind of dry. Some of the details like where each character sits on the carriage were changed cause why not. Anyways, the next few chapters will be a little shorter and should be less dry and I’ll probably have some more art up for those chapters on Tumblr.
> 
> Additionally, since my outline is still pretty loose, let me know if there are any whump things you’d like to see. With the MacGuffin illness that I’m using for this story, pretty much any sick-whump things can fly so let me know if there’s anything in particular that you want to see!
> 
> P.S. I think I'm just going to solidify my schedule and say I'll post Sunday mornings. If there are ever any changes in that schedule, I'll make sure to mention it on my Tumblr.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry finds his way back to the society and is greeted rather rudely by a certain resident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Gore, unintentional self-harm, dark thoughts, & body horror.

It was late by the time he found his way home, following the goliath of a telescope peering over the various rooftops, his neck burning each time he turned his head up to follow it. The clear black sky lingered just beyond the scope -- so rare for a naturally cloudy place like London. On any other night, he would consider it pleasant.

Tonight, however, all it did was rest uneasily in his stomach.

Clear skies; right after he had been watching the fireworks raise up just under the clouds only what he hoped to be hours earlier. Not to mention the various infections which he doubted were the work of only a few hours.

How long had he been out?

More importantly, where was  _ Hyde _ ?

Henry shuffled along the shadows of the streets, careful to keep himself masked fully within the dark. A few times, he would turn into a particularly dodgy alleyway, keeping his eyes fixed on either the growing telescope or his surroundings, ignorant to the filth of the street and wincing when he’d step in a dodgy puddle or would hear the crunch of a bottle underneath his feet. At one instance, as he heard a specially loud crunch of glass, he had nearly jumped out of his skin as he spun around -- believing for a moment that someone was following him -- a wave of nausea hitting him from the movement and sending him dizzily stumbling into a nearby wall as he had whipped around to find the alley empty.

After the movement, Henry had noticed that he hadn’t quite walked the same way, quickly spinning back around as his heart began to pound.

_ He needed to get back. He couldn’t risk someone seeing him like this. The society was so close.. _

He shuffled forward sharply, throwing his gaze back up and tracing the skyline once more as he located the telescope and took another turn at the end of the alley. As he walked, he ignored the familiar sting beneath his skin, doing his best to push it to the back of his mind as he hurriedly stumbled forwards. He was close and -- he took a particularly graceless step as he stepped out from the alleyway, turning the corner too quickly and nearly sending himself to the pavement but catching himself by pushing his shoulder into the wall of the building beside him.

Henry took a few moments, panting as he stared up and tried to collect his breath, another feeling beginning to seep into his stomach. A pleasant one that washed over him just as he could have sworn it had only hours ago when Robert had pointed out the success of the exhibition; relief.

The society, in all its grandeur, lay only a short distance up the street.

He found it funny, how the remaining distance seemed to be the most difficult for him to cross.

Every couple of steps, he’d find that his former grace would falter miserably, sending him back to leaning against the wall for support. Much to his disappointment, there were no areas for him to keep to the shadows, and so he chose to stick close to the side of the society, hoping that any stray lodgers that were still awake at this hour would look out too far if they happened to glance out their window, ignorant to the man shambling home just beneath their window sills.

As for his wounds?

For the smallest moment, they seemed so distant and minuscule, his eyes trained only on the society and the thought seemed to slip his mind, if only for a few minutes; as if the wounds weren’t even there.

Unfortunately, as he shuffled his way to the doors, trying the handle to find it pleasantly unlocked at this hour, his eyes drifted back to his wrist in that minuscule second and the feeling had unpleasantly returned.

He turned the knob and pushed the door open, desperate to make it inside before he paid any mind to the horrible itch.

The door slowly opened.

Inside, it was empty.

There were no groups of lodgers lingering and playing cards or chatting at the edges of the entry room, no Rachel bustling around doing her work, or even a stray Frankenstein making her eighth escape attempt of the week. It was barren and dark and for a few gentle moments, as Henry lingered with his side pressed against the doorframe, his sense of relief was instead replaced with something that he could not explain.

_ They’re not looking for you. _

Henry’s brow furrowed and for a single moment, he turned his head and glanced across the room. It had been so soft, he had almost missed the words; assuming it to be a fleeting thought that had drifted across his mind after finding the room to be empty. He could have sworn that voice had been…

Looking around, the thought quickly drifted away. There was nobody there; not even his shadow appeared any different, no matter how many seconds he stared at it.

It must have just been a thought, some fleeting intrusive thought that had nothing to do with his alter ego.

Hyde was just as unresponsive as ever.

Henry brought his nails to his neck, stumbling forward before using his shoulder to push the door closed behind him, wincing as he dug his fingers in and listened to the soft click of the door closing behind him.

He knew it was best that nobody was looking for him. It meant that nobody would see him in this state and he could explain any noticeable absences in the morning. He wasn’t quite sure what he would say, he wasn’t even sure how long he had been missing or the severity of whatever Hyde had gotten into or done during his absence, but he figured it was best to just cross that bridge when he got there.

Slowly bringing his nails away from his throat, trying his best to ignore the cool wetness slowly seeping through his shirt and staining his collarbone, he began to shuffle in the direction of the grand room that led to the steps.

He was so close. Once he reached the room, he had a few flights of stairs to cross before he could reach his office and subsequently his room. He could clean himself up. He could rest. Then, once each injury had been properly cared for, he could figure out what had occurred with Hyde.

Perhaps the man was simply hiding from the pain of his injuries? Henry knew that despite the other man’s boasts of how many times he’d been cut or nearly stabbed, the other man was hardly tolerant to pain and would often be quick to pass up control whenever the pain got to be too much to bear, always excusing it as him merely not wanting to deal with the aftermath of their injuries.

While Henry himself had rarely ever been severely injured during his times in control, only a handful of circumstances coming to memory such as a few accidental burns involving the lodgers and one bite a week prior from one of Jasper’s more frightful creatures, he knew that Hyde could feel it if he was close enough to the surface -- though it usually took longer to set in and was much less extreme. For the burns, Hyde usually began to recognize the pain a few hours after it had occurred, steadily growing until he’d finally started complaining about it and force Henry to stop helping the lodgers so that he could whip up something to make it go away and stop bothering him. For the bite, Henry had been almost amused whenever Hyde had spent the better part of that night taunting Henry for being so gentle with the injured area until the next morning when Henry had gotten used to it and it was Hyde’s turn to complain about the injury.

Now, however?

Well, Henry was surprised that Hyde had not made any appearance. Surely he’d already started feeling the beginnings of these injuries already?

The thought drifted quickly away, however, as Henry turned a corner into the grand room and heard a slight scampering noise from the stairway, lifting his eyes quickly to the source. The movement gave him another brief wave of nausea, his graceless shuffling sending his shoulder into the doorframe of the entryway as he turned his eyes to the stairs.

A small pair of beady red eyes stared back from the darkness.

Above the silence, he heard the soft noise of a growl building in the creature’s throat before it escaped the creature’s lips, building steadily into what Henry had sincerely wished it would not do; a bark.

“Arf!” Zosi barked sharply, the sound far too loud for what Henry had wished would have remained a discreet reentrance.

“Hush!” Henry quickly said, wincing as he stepped forward and pushed himself away from the doorframe, making his way to the stairs, regretting the quick movement as soon as he began stumbling towards the staircase.

“Arf-Arf!” Zosi barked again.

“Zosi, stop that!” Henry said, trying to ignore the vague slur of his words as he tried to make his way to the dog but stumbled again as he tried to take his first step up the stairs, finding a sharp pain to shoot through his foot as he stepped, sending him gracelessly back down the step and against the banister as he tried to brace himself from falling onto his back.

“Arf!”

“Zosi, it’s me,” Henry said quickly as he tried putting on a familiar smile for the creature, his tone still hushed, hoping that his quiet tone would bring the grim’s own volume down. “Come here,” He tried, holding a hand out with the goal of luring the dog over so that it would sniff him, realize it was just him, and hopefully it would stop barking.

Instead, much to Henry’s surprise, the grim merely stared back down at him from the top of the first fleet of stairs. However, it wasn’t its refusal to come near him that surprised the doctor; it was how the little grim was holding itself.

He knew Zosi to be an unfortunate coward. It shied away from Jasper’s creatures in the first week that Jasper had arrived, always shaking and giving light little growls as if trying to scare them away any time one of them tried to play with the grim. The little grim had always been so quick to growl and yap but never seemed to have the heart or bravery to bite.

No, Henry was surprised when he really looked at the small grim, the moonlight drifting through the many windows to illuminate its figure only a few feet away from him.

It stood at the top of the steps, refusing to budge despite how every little ounce of the small creature seemed to tremble horribly, its lips peeled back as it gave a low growl, its skeletal tail betraying its false bravado as it remained tucked between its legs. There was no denying it, Zosi looked completely terrified.

“Zosi,” Henry tried, his gaze softening and his smile quickly fading. Did it not recognize him? “It’s me, it’s Henry,” He said once more as he gripped the banister tightly and tried to make it back up the first step.

“Arf!” Zosi barked again, actually taking a short trembling step forward and drawing its lips back again as if guarding something from the very man that he once rescued it.

Henry’s heart sank.

Zosi  _ was _ guarding something; the lodgers and their rooms -- it was guarding them from  _ him. _

Surely the creature could tell it was him? He was only about ten feet away and there must be enough light drifting through the windows to make his features visible -- much more so to the trained eyes of the grim?

Zosi gave another sharp yap as Henry lingered, having made it up the first step but finding himself frozen in shock staring at the small terrified grim that was trying so desperately to prevent him from ascending the steps. “Plea-” Henry began, holding his hand back out again for the dog, praying that it would just come over and smell him and stop barking.

He was so close. The dog was going to keep barking no matter if he waited here or tried to ascend the steps. It was going to alert all the lodgers. They would come streaming out and see him like this. They would think that he was weak. Frankenstein would be proved right -- Henry was a weak and worthless leader. They-

“Henry?”

The word was soft and gentle, nearly missed in Henry’s terrified racing thoughts, it was  _ familiar _ .

Zosi’s head snapped to the side and the dog scampered off quickly, giving a final short yip of fright as it looked one final time at Henry before turning a corner somewhere on the second floor and vanished from sight. As it ran, Henry’s eyes following it, he finally located the source of the voice in his quiet daze.

There, standing only a few ten or more feet away, staring at him from where they were standing at the banister, was Robert Lanyon, his eyes just as blown wide as the grim’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things;  
> 1.) The next chapter is going to be broken up into small bits instead of a single 7500k+ chapter. I apologize in advance since it’s all technically one scene/chapter, but broken up into three parts.  
> 2.) I might include a short standalone story for TGS next week. Celebrating my birthday that Sunday and I just like the idea of spending the day satisfied with the fact that I posted twice instead of just the usual chapter. Plus I know whump stories aren’t everyone’s cup of tea, so I want to get in the habit of having an occasional fluff fic.


	4. Chapter Four: Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robert reunites with Henry and tries to get an understanding of what happened to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Gore, referenced self-harm, & graphic depictions of injury.

Robert would never forget that night in the garden when — for just a moment — he’d thought his dearest friend had been replaced by some monster as he was pushed back into the bushes; as if Henry and all his gentle charm had been lost along with any and all semblance of himself.

For just a split second, the man had been unrecognizable.

It was just anger.

Robert recognized it later. It was so rare for the other doctor to see him in any other way than his usual facade of patience with the lodgers or interest in the patrons.

It wasn’t the only time that he’d lost that calm exterior though, even Henry had his limits. Robert had forced himself to remember that fact, painfully recollecting two years prior when Henry had hardly ever left his office, it becoming a chore just to coax the man into mundane tasks like eating or generally taking care of himself. There had been a few harsh times in which neither him or Rachel could truthfully bring themselves to believe that Henry would leave that office each time he dragged himself up the steps and closed the door with a definite click as the lock slid shut.

Those times, Robert had assumed it was nothing more than sadness; everyone had their lows, after all.

Unfortunately, as Robert stared through the dim darkness tonight, the moon casting a gentle light over Henry’s face with a shadowed line from the frame dividing his features almost perfectly, he immediately recognized that Henry was  _ anything _ but fine. As they both locked their gazes to each other, Robert felt a chill run through his spine and his fingers tightened on the banister.

He almost found it funny, how the silhouette of the window above broke Henry’s features straight down the middle as if showing two parts of the whole doctor.

On one half, Robert could see the faint sheen of sweat coating the man’s forehead and cheeks, the faintest bit of a flush in his sickly looking skin that was clear from even there. His eyes looked a little sunken, or perhaps it was merely a trick of the eye, but the way they stared at Robert for just a few moments in confusion as if trying to piece together who he was, Robert could easily say that they were unfocused. His hair clung damply to his skin at the edges of his face. As painful as looking at the man was, Robert was thankful for the cleaner portion of his face, as he likely would not have been capable of telling who the man he was staring at was if not for it.

The other portion of Henry’s face was much less recognizable.

He had been a doctor for nearly eleven years now and despite the countless times he had been pulled out from his office to help out with a medical emergency in the dark of night, he would never get used to how dark blood looked in the moonlight.

The entire left side of Henry’s face was darkened and glossy in a way that Robert knew would be horribly wet to the touch. It was most heavily directly at the side of his face, where his hair was messily clumped together in the dark wetness before smudging off to the sides of the face, even curling disturbingly towards his eye, Robert half expecting to see some sort of horrid crack in the other man’s skull as if the doctor had been thoroughly bludgeoned — as if Robert was staring at some sort of horrible phantom that had taken his dear friend’s place.

The longer he stared, the worse Henry looked.

It was as if they were both frozen in this moment; Henry frozen in the second he’d been brutally murdered or beaten or some other means that had reduced him to a mere ghost in front of Robert, Robert frozen analyzing every little detail about the man before him. Analyzing the way that his clothes were filthy and darkened; the way that as he trailed his eyes down and felt his heart sink more as he noticed how it appeared as if animals had found Henry’s body before him — gnawing into his throat and wrists when Henry should have been rescued; the way that Robert could distinctly see splotches of moonlight-black blood not only on the other man’s sleeves and arms, but curling in trails across his nails before they deafeningly hit the ground in soft droplets and stained the floor beneath him.

The floor, not only stained with the droplets of blood, but faint outlines of it smeared across the ground in Henry’s footsteps leading from the entrance of the room to the staircase that he lingered at.

Oh god, doctor Henry Jekyll was dead.

The creature that Robert stared at was his ghost. There was no denying it; nobody could survive that much blood loss. It was more gruesome than any carriage crash that Robert had ever seen. More horrific than any suicide fall or-

“Robert?” Henry croaked softly, his voice painfully wet and low.

The doctor felt the chill run back through his spine, tugging at his heart for a few moments.

What... What was he thinking? Henry wasn’t dead, he was right here! This wasn’t a phantom, this was his friend!

Unless ghosts could speak...

“Good lord, Henry,” Robert stuttered, unable to help himself as he sprinted down the steps and towards the doctor, opening his arms. He knew that if he was lucky, it would be messy, his clothes and arms would be stained in the inky black blood that drenched his friend and yet  _ he didn’t care _ . He needed to know.

“Wait, I-”

Henry’s words died in his throat as Robert grabbed hold of him, tugging him close and stifling a cry of joy as he realized that the man he held was  _ solid _ . “You’re alive,” Robert said softly into Henry’s shoulder, listening closely to the soft breathing from the other man, close enough to feel the way that his chest rose and fell and swearing that he could even hear the other man’s heartbeat. “You’re alive,” Robert repeated quietly to himself.

A few quiet moments passed before Robert felt the other man relax a little in his embrace, a hand gently coming to rest on his shoulder.

Slowly, he forced himself to break the embrace, pulling back and gently bringing his hands to the sides of Henry’s face, his heart sinking further.

Looking at him up close, he could have laughed with joy.

Unfortunately, that joy was short-lived.

“Is that…” He began softly, turning Henry’s face gently to look at it and feeling a tug of guilt as he noticed the way Henry winced at the movement. Regardless, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the side of his face. Slowly, he brought one hand up to the darkness covering the side of the man’s face that he had assumed to be blood, touching it and blinking. “Is that… Mud?”

Henry offered a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his exhausted eyes. “I would hope so.”

Robert blinked before relaxing his grip on the sides of Henry’s face, turning his gaze briefly to the man’s eyes before lowering them to his throat and feeling dread begin to pool in his stomach.

He’d spotted the wounds already from the staircase, but with his worst fear of Henry’s face being caved in having dissipated, he could tell from up close that his second-worst fear had been confirmed. The doctor had survived, but he was nowhere close to fine.

“Good god,” Robert breathed, looking between Henry’s throat and wrists. He couldn’t tell which was more horrific, the left wrist or the doctor’s throat. He took Henry’s wrist, feeling the doctor flinch under his admittedly tight grip.

At the wrist, which Robert could faintly see in the darkness blossomed with a whole rainbow of infected splotchy colors and slick in appearance, was obviously not only injured but severely infected — a few droplets of blood had escaped from under the thick layer of inflammation covering the man’s wrist and steadily dripping from his shredded fingertips.

His throat, while appearing to be a bit more recent and thankfully not deep into an infection, bled much more, covering his collar and leading the front of his shirt to be splotchy and dark, long lines torn through the skin as if some creature had desperately trying to get beneath the doctor’s skin.

In all his time as a doctor, Robert had come to develop a professional indifference to injury, choosing to put his instinct to treat a patient over the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing such a horrific injury.

Tonight, Robert felt that indifference nearly crumble.

This wasn’t some patient sitting in front of a table; this was Henry.

He blinked, his stare falling on the wrist that he held, unable to pull his eyes away from the assortment of colors splotched over the messy wound.

Slowly, he tried to collect himself, his eyes fixing on the slight tremble in Henry’s fingers. He couldn’t tell if it was his own hands that were shaking and therefore making the other doctor’s hands shake, or if it was the other doctor himself. Nonetheless, it broke his heart.

“Henry,” He began softly, looking up at him. “What happened?”

Henry merely stared back with wide eyes that flicked across Robert for a few moments as his lips fell partially agape. Slowly, Henry’s eyebrows drew together before his gaze drew to the side.

“I-” Henry began, eyes still on the floor. “Well-” He stuttered again. After a moment, he flicked his gaze up briefly, Robert unable to find it in himself to be upset as the doctor began speaking. “I know that I should have told somebody,” Henry said, his tone a little low and strained.

“Henry,” Robert quietly began.

“I decided to go for a walk, I suppose I might have just gotten a bit carried away-” He interrupted, briefly glancing up. Robert watched the man’s forced smile falter before his eyes returned to the ground, the doctor  _ continuing to lie _ . “It’s really nothing. I think I scraped myself on something.”

Robert felt his heart sink a little more. “Henry,” He tried again patiently.

Henry’s expression shifted to something unreadable, eyebrows scrunching up slightly for a moment in a wince as his fingers gave a sharp twitch between Robert’s hands. “I’m really okay,” Henry mumbled, his voice cracking briefly, the doctor falling silent following the short pained noise.

Robert couldn’t understand. What could possibly be so horrible to make the doctor  _ lie to him _ ?

“Henry,” Robert tried one more time, bringing one of the hands on the doctor’s wrist back up to the side of Henry’s face, hoping to ground the man. Shifting his hand a little, he couldn’t help but notice how warm the other man’s skin was. A fever, Robert considered. Perhaps Henry was simply delirious. “Look at me,” He said softly.

Slowly, Henry’s eyes drifted back up to him, some of the pain seeming to have been lost and replaced instead by mere exhaustion. He looked like shit.

Well… The doctor was looking at him. Now what?

Despite his years of training, Robert had always been efficient at his job, not exactly  _ caring _ . He wasn’t quite sure what to say. Henry was clearly in a terrible state, not to mention obviously feverish. He needed treatment, not to be criticized or for someone to point out the fact that he’d just lied through his teeth.

So, against all that Robert wanted to say, he said the three words that went against every other thought that was racing through his head. “I believe you.”

Henry’s expression softened, Robert almost imagining that Henry had just briefly begun to smile, though the expression drifted back away sharply as his hand twitched again beneath Robert’s grip, his face skewering up in what Robert was divided between calling an expression of pain and annoyance.

At the hand movement, however; Robert glanced down, finding his eyes landing not on the wrist, but the man’s  _ hands _ .

He felt a slight chill at his spine as he stared at the mangled ends of Henry’s fingers.

The nails were peeled back, the ones that were long enough to do so at least. The majority of his nails were shredded to the nubs, far past the edge of his fingertips where the skin was red, raw, and bloodied; as if the man had spent all four of the days desperately clawing away at  _ something _ .

His jaw tightened as he stared at the ends of Henry’s fingers.

Specifically, it was like Henry was trying to claw his way  _ out _ of something.

Robert knew how ridiculous the thought was just as soon as it had occurred. Why would Henry be stuck somewhere? Where would he even get stuck? He was smarter than that, he wouldn’t just get stuck someplace with the only option of escape being to claw his own way out.

Unless it hadn’t been Henry to put him there…

Nonsense! Why would anyone put Henry anywhere? Who would-

Oh god.

_ Edward Hyde had appeared the night before Henry had disappeared, the very man that Robert believed to have been blackmailing the doctor. Had… Had Hyde been keeping him somewhere? Was this Mr. Hyde’s work? _

“Robert,” Henry mumbled, drawing Robert’s eyes back up, “I-” He began, stumbling over his words briefly. “May I go get myself cleaned up?”

Robert blinked, his eyes drifting quickly between each of Henry’s eyes before he tore them to the side, his eyebrows furrowing a little. He needed to be calm. He needed to not get upset. Henry had been through enough, whatever that  _ ‘enough’ _ was exactly, Robert needed to just be here for him right now.

Unfortunately, he knew that meant that he would need to leave him alone for a moment. He couldn’t do this himself. His hands were shaking too much, still gently cupping the side of Henry’s face and gripping his hand. This was too much for one person to take care of.

“Stay here,” Robert began, stepping down the last step and beginning to carefully guide Henry to sit down on the steps like he would directing a patient to sit in a chair. Henry winced sharply as he stepped down though, nearly falling on his back against the stairs if not for Robert catching him and immediately looking down.

He blinked as he looked at the strange way that Henry was holding his weight, his hips pressed against the banister and seemingly  _ refusing _ to sit down, his weight shifted entirely to one side of his body.

“What happened to your leg?” Robert asked as he crouched down, briefly flicking his gaze behind them to the small splotches of moonlight-black blood on the floor, having nearly completely forgotten about them in light of everything else.

Henry blinked. “I- Well I don’t really-” He stuttered. “Well, I had to walk down a few alleys on my way here-” He continued, words fumbled and lacking their usual grace, Robert blinking as he looked back up for a moment, pulling Henry’s pant leg up to check for any injuries on his leg before he reached for the shoe. “It is not exactly the brightest outside and I thought I heard some glass break at one point but I hadn’t really considered that it had broken  _ underneath _ me and- Ow!” He said a little loudly, quickly bringing the back of one of his hands to his mouth as if to muffle the pained expression instinctively, spreading a small splotch of blood to the cleaner half of his face.

“Sorry,” Robert mumbled, stopping his tugging at Henry’s shoe as he simply turned his foot up to look at the bottom and frowned. Sure enough, right near the center of the sole, there was a deep jagged cut across it with a couple of thin glinting fragments of glass still embedded within the shoe. “Christ, Henry…” He sighed.

“It’s really not that bad, I hardly noticed it,” Henry tried to say, his tone still a bit jumbled.

Robert straightened up, wincing as he looked again at Henry’s injured foot. It was hard to tell how severe it was. It was clearly bleeding, but not by much, and it seemed to pale in comparison to some of Henry’s other injuries. “Sit down,” Robert commanded, moving to guide him to sit down, this time a bit more carefully.

“What? No! Robert!” Henry began, saying Robert’s name with a bit of panic that made Robert’s heart sink a little more. “I can’t stay here, I need- I need to go upstairs! I need to go to my office!”

Robert felt a lump in his throat as he hesitated. He didn’t want Henry moving around any more than he already had. The man was  _ covered _ in injuries, seemingly everywhere on his body as well. He couldn’t risk having Henry go upstairs and make it worse.

_ Then again… _

If Henry  _ had _ been kidnapped, there was a strong likelihood that he either didn’t want to be alone, wanted to be somewhere familiar or both. Henry was feverish, possibly still under the assumption that whoever did this to him could return, could  _ hurt him again _ .

That  _ Hyde _ could hurt him again.

No. Robert wouldn’t let that happen, not again. Henry was safe.

Unfortunately, he also couldn’t let Henry just walk away. He needed  _ help _ .

“Henry,” Robert said. “You are safe here. I need you to understand that,” He explained as he guided Henry to sit down, finally succeeding as the doctor took on an expression similar to that of a kicked puppy. “Nobody will let anything happen to you here. But-” He continued, hesitating as he saw confusion begin to drift into Henry’s expression. He really couldn’t let Henry know that he had caught on to his lie. Whatever the reason Henry had for lying, Robert wanted him to cling to that little comfort, at least for right now. “You are injured. I’m going to go get Rachel and I will be right back before you can even realize that I am gone.”

“But-”

“We will take care of your injuries and then you can rest. Then — and only then — you can go back to doing whatever you desire. If that is taking care of the society, then so be it. If it is resting a little longer, then you cannot expect us to fight that either.” Robert explained, slowly letting go of Henry. “We will take care of you, but you know how much of a fuss Rachel will make if she finds out that you’ve walked any further in this state. Stay.”

There was a pause of silence between them, Henry’s gaze flicking across Robert’s features for a few moments as if trying to piece him together, almost like he was some sort of puzzle. After those long seconds, however; Henry gave a gentle sigh, his shoulders falling a little.

“Okay,” Henry finally said, his voice in a low wet croak that tugged at Robert’s heart. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” Robert breathed. “I will be back soon, I promise.”

With that, Robert broke his stare with Henry, his chest tightening as he turned to the direction of Rachel’s quarters and hurriedly made his way around the corner, fighting back his own growing panic.

He couldn’t imagine what Henry had been through. The deep carvings all over his throat and wrists, the infections, his fingers, his foot; it all sat weighty at the forefront of Robert’s mind. What kind of  _ monster _ would do this to someone, much less to  _ Henry? _

_ Hyde could… _

But what would Hyde even have to gain from it? Money? Information? What could possibly justifiable to torture a man nearly to his  _ deathbed? _

Robert broke into a faster pace, turning another corner as he clenched his fists, recalling the horrible deep scratches.

He felt a chill on his spine as another thought began to occur.

Henry had scratches across his wrists and throat, and peeled back nails on each hand… 

Perhaps…

Henry had done this to himself…

No…

No.

Henry wouldn’t do this.

It had to have been Hyde.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much to add here, but I just got a drawing tablet so there will hopefully be some chapter art to come with this sometime soon! (Don’t hold me to the ‘soon’ part, I need a little time to practice first…)

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/toacho.


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